There Goes the Fear
by TheViewFromTheAfternoon
Summary: My whole life has been defined by bad decisions, doing what I think I should instead of what I want — living up to being a Donovan. So maybe now it's about time I started looking out for myself, too. (One-shot: Terry reflects on the past — set S1 Ep.2, 'A Mouth is a Mouth')


A/N: Just a little one-shot, based on info from season one only, on how I imagine this might have gone. My first story for the fandom, so I'd love you to leave a review and let me know what you think of it :)

* * *

 **THERE GOES THE FEAR**

"Jesus, Ter, just ask her out will you?"

"Ask who out?" I play it dumb, like I don't have the first clue who he's talking about, even though we've had this conversation once today already.

"Nurse Frances, you jerk. It's obvious she's into you, the way she's lookin' at you, all them questions and comments she made. So next time you see her ask her to dinner or summat," Ray persists, rolling his eyes at me as he takes another sip from his whiskey glass before turning his attention back towards Bunchy as he heads out the office.

"Yeah right," I mutter, glancing down at my hand, balling it into a tight fist as I try to control the ever present tremor, pretend it ain't there. Ray ain't been able to leave this alone since he drove me over the doctor's office yesterday; wish I hadn't asked him, should have got a fucking cab there, saved myself all this trouble. 'Cause despite what he says, she ain't gonna want to be with someone like me, someone so fucking damaged that I can barely hold the glass steady in my hand no more.

Cross the gym away from the pair of them and try to busy myself in the office, find my eye wandering to the faded photos lining the wall. Me in the early days when I was winning things; me and Bernadette, her happy and smiling at my side; more of me holding up belts and trophies, Mickey always there in the thick of it, looking like he actually gives a shit. And he probably did – not about me though, just about the money more like.

He wouldn't have pushed me to do that last fight, screwed up my life, left me like this - a shell of my former self - if he had.

xxxxxx

 _"Go on, Terry, a come-back fight'll earn you some good money."_

 _"Earn you some, more like," I snap back, turning away from him to sweep the club floor. I don't need to do it, I'm happier just working here, earning an honest wage, training up the kids. "'Sides, I promised Bernadette I was done with it, retired."_

 _Mickey laughs, shoves my shoulder, trying to provoke a response out of me. "You ain't seriously letting that girl of yours tell you what you can do are you, Terence?"_

 _"Can it, Mickey. I ain't doing it." I won't give him the satisfaction of thinking he's getting to me. She's got a job; we got a place now, thinking about marrying next spring. Finally got her to agree to it, on the condition I gave up the fighting. Only as I go to all away he steps in front of me, blocks my path._

 _"Thought you was a real man, Terry, a Donovan? Not some pussy letting some broad call all the shots?"_

 _I glare up at him; figure the only way to shut him the hell up is to hear what he has to say. Run a hand through my hair and give in to him, like I always fucking do. "Alright, Mickey. I'll listen, don't mean I'm agreeing to it though."_

 _He grins at me, chuckles to himself, like it's already a done deal as he slings an arm across my shoulders. "Knew you'd see sense, boy. You don't got to worry, your old man has it all worked out..."_

 _xxxxxx_

 _Pre-fight preparation, the worst part of the fucking day. Don't need her here making me feel worse than I already do, though. "Terry, please. You don't need to do this."_

 _"Yeah, I do. You know we need the money." Don't know why she can't get that I'm only doing this for us; get us out that crummy fucking apartment block sooner than we'll manage it on my shit wage. Might be doing a job I love, but it don't exactly pay well._

 _"No, we can get by. My jobs going good, should get a raise soon, then we'll be able to—"_

 _"I ain't having you be the one, it's my job to take care of you, Bern," I retort, trying not to lose my temper with her._

 _"You know that ain't you talking, that's just your old man and his bullshit macho pride."_

 _"You saying I ain't got no pride Bernadette"_

 _"Jesus, no. Stop twisting my words. You know I can't bear to watch you in there no more, Terry, not after that last time, how much I hate it. Can't stand to see you get hit like that, getting hurt again."_

 _I have to stand up, I'm too wound up, having her doubts piling in on top of my own that are already nagging at me; can't take this now, shouldn't be thinking this way. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, darling, nice to know what you really think of me, some fucking loser who can't handle it? Is that about the measure of it?"_

 _She lets out a sigh, folds her arms. "Jesus, you know that ain't what I meant. You retired for a reason, remember? You wanted out as much as me. Don't matter if I believe you can beat him or not, there's still a risk ain't there? Could still hurt you, get a lucky punch in or something."_

 _"I'll be fine, sweetheart, been studying his stats," I offer, reaching out as I speak, resting my fingertips against her cheek, "and Mickey says—"_

 _"Screw Mickey," she snaps, pushing my hand away. "Fucking bastard ain't in it for anyone but himself. He'll fuck you over soon as look at you Terry, you know that, but you still do whatever the hell he says in the end anyway."_

 _Don't know why, because I know she's talking the truth, but I still find myself defending the old man anyway. "Come on, Bernadette, he ain't—"_

 _"No, Terry. I ain't listening to your excuses and I ain't gonna stand here tonight and watch you get hurt." She pauses, shakes her head, her voice quieter now as she steps closer, wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. "Why don't you come home with me, forget all this? Please, for me?"_

 _I really want to say yes, do what she wants, get away from all this. Only I can't let him down. Family sticks together, right? What Ma always told me, anyway, made me promise to always look out for my brothers, my father. "I can't, it's too late to cancel."_

 _"Can't or won't?" she demands, "although I don't s'pose it makes any difference. Just don't expect me to be there waiting for you if you go through with this."_

 _"Bernadette, wait!"_

 _Only she's already storming away, head down as she heads away from me, right past Mickey who's just turned up._

 _"Hey there, sweetheart, what's the hurry? Will we see you tonight?" He grins at her as she glares up at him._

 _"Screw you, Mickey Donovan," she spits the words at him, not breaking stride, only he just laughs, watches her walk away._

 _"In your dreams, darling, in your dreams."_

 _xxxxxx_

Finally the place is empty, the guys are gone, and it's a relief to finally lock the doors, have some time to myself. Opening the mail, I read through the letters, the pages shaking a little in my hand, my mind wandering again, back to the doctor's office, that conversation with Ray, how she's kind of pretty, and funny too. Been a long time since I've let myself think that way about anyone. Sighing I gather up these new bills and add them to the pile. Hell, they can wait until tomorrow. My head ain't in the right place for shit like this tonight. Shower and a shot of something to help me sleep, stop myself from being so fucking ridiculous about this. I ain't some kid in high school, shouldn't be daydreaming about some broad I got no chance with anyways. Ain't like I've got anything to offer someone like her.

xxxxxx

 _The air in here is thick with smoke as Mickey paces up and down the changing room, laughing and joking, slapping the guy he's talking to on the back, telling jokes that only he thinks are funny. Mickey Donovan, always pretending he fucking knows best when it comes to his kids, that he's some big man running his family when really he'd screw any one of us over if we stood between him and what he wanted. Never got it myself, that need to be the boss, though I see it Ray, no matter how much he tells me he ain't gonna turn into our old man, how he's gonna be something better, bigger. But honestly, that thought fucking frightens me even more._

 _Voices and music drift in from ringside. Try to ignore it all, clear my head, focus. Say a silent prayer to myself and think of mom, Bridget, Bernadette. Tell myself that this really is the last time I'm gonna put myself through this. I ain't scared. Just deep down I know I ain't still good enough, ain't quick enough one more, my reflexes ain't as good as they should be - and that sure as hell ain't a good place to be going into this from._

 _Taking a quick glance out the changing room door as the first fight of the night starts up it seems the place is packed, a real big crowd, though I doubt many of 'em are here for me, they'll be here for this flashy young kid, the latest hot shot on the circuit, the one who already thinks he's got me beat. Could tell from his cocky fucking mouth beforehand. Jesus why in hell am I even doing this?_

 _I ain't even thirty fucking years old yet. But already I'm too old for this, lost my edge. Too many fights too soon and I can't take the pace no more, it's a young man's game. Should have walked out of here with Bernadette while I still had the chance._

 _xxxxxx_

 _I force my eyes open. My head is fucking pounding, feels like it's gonna explode. Try to sit up but I can't hardly move, cry out before I can stop myself._

 _"Jesus, fucking hell." Hear movement across the room and for a moment my heart leaps, can't turn my head so I call out instead. "Bernadette? Is that you?"_

 _"Nah, Ter, it's only me."_

 _More movement, the scraping of the chair legs across the tiled floor the only noise until he settles close beside me where I can actually see him. My brother looks a mess, still wearing the same shirt from the fight night, eyes dark and tired as he shakes his head. No surprises it's him sitting there, again, not the old man. Both of us know by now that you can never rely on Mickey to be around when shit goes wrong._

 _"You been here the whole time? How long was I out?"_

 _He nods at me "Day and a half, it's Monday morning."_

 _"God, feels like only five minutes. She been in, Ray?" I ask, turning my head awkwardly to look at him, although after that last conversation me and her had I'm pretty sure I already know the answer to that. Still need to know though, the one thing that actually matters to me._

 _He's looking at the floor, his shoes, out the window, anywhere but me as he runs a hand through his hair, shakes his head, and I don't exactly know why, but I get a real bad feeling as I wait on Ray to speak. "No."_

 _"Guess she really meant it this time then."_

 _"No, Terry, there's something you need to know. That night, when she was driving home, there was an accident. She didn't stand a chance..."_

 _I swallow, stare up at the ceiling, not really listening as he spills out the details to me, just wonder why I was so damn stupid as to screw up the only good thing in my life over nothing._

xxxxxx

Heading back out the shower, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, find myself standing, staring. Run my trembling fingertips over the tattoo. Still miss her, all these fucking years later, find myself wondering how my life might have been if I hadn't given in to Mickey - if I hadnt fucked up and she hadn't been so damn stubborn; if we'd talked it over, worked it out instead of blaming each other and filling our last words to each other with hatred. If I'd just admitted to myself what she really meant to me before it was too late.

But maybe now it's time to finally let it go, forgive myself. Take a chance on something new and not let this fucking shit I can't change control my life, my choices, no more.

Pick up my shorts off of the bench and scrabble through my pockets, finally find Frances' cell number on a balled up scrap of paper. Smoothing it out I stare down at the numbers, replay that appointment, the conversation over and over in my head. Guess I ain't got much to lose, might as well call her, arrange another appointment, maybe even ask her to dinner.

Place the paper safely under the phone and pick up the phone, drop it back down again. Tell myself now ain't a good time, that I should wait until morning. Tomorrow, I'll do this tomorrow. Sigh and run a hand through my hair. No more excuses, hiding away. Ignoring the tremor I reach out and take up the phone again, start dialling the numbers, wait for an eternity as it rings and rings.

"Hello, Frances? Is that you?...It's Terry, Terry Donovan."


End file.
